Today I spent mostly sick in bed. Nothing interesting there. However I did manage to finish off a mess of bitter poetry I had written a few months back.
You were there to help me fall,
To give that extra shove,
To feel the flames of hatred.
You gave me a place to run to,
but left me to return to my prison,
alone.
With you I was always alone.
The knife was twisted deeper and you were involved.
Always the first to watch me break,
Never the one to heal.
You'd give anything,
to see me hurt like you.
Someone who was tortured all the same.
You'd see beauty in the salty tears I'd cry,
and all I saw was coldness staring back at me in your stone smile.
This should be self-explanatory. The one person who I turned to for help, only made things worse. And I was left to be angry about it.